When my body lay numb, open in the wide
you put your warmth onto my soul
The warmth with the strangeness of character,
unlike the cliche'd
The warmth crude to the hilt,
The warmth indifferent to my Low's
it smelled of sweat and not white musk
it echoed but wasnt shrill
the warmth unrecognised by you and the rest
not celebrated by the present you too
Your past, as you say, was familiar somewhat.
your future, might also be so.
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